Cloying
by Demus
Summary: Phoenix Wright's unfortunate habit of turning into a limpet when he's asleep has unforeseen consequences. Or; Miles Edgeworth might be unwilling to admit his insatiability, but that doesn't mean it's not real. PWP.


_Ah._

Miles blinked awake, the last gossamer veil of sleep drifting reluctantly away and irritation swiftly taking its place. "Really, Wright?" he said, into the softening darkness. "This? In _August_?"

Apparently, Wright wasn't in the mood to listen. Nor was he, technically, awake. He had, however, managed to wrap himself so thoroughly around Miles that the prosecutor couldn't move; the almost-imperceptible whisper of the air conditioner was a comfort, but it had little effect on the overpowering heat of Wright's body, skin-to-skin contact making them both sticky with sweat, clinging-damp and _deeply unpleasant._

Or so Miles was attempting to convince himself. It seemed that his body was in as recalcitrant a mood as Wright. He shifted, trying to uncurl himself to relieve the delicious pressure, to _control _himself, but that only resulted in the gentle ghosting of an unhappy breath against his neck, Wright moving with him, hugging him close.

Miles gave up. Phoenix's arms settled around him, nose nuzzling into the back of his neck, and he let out a soft sigh of satisfaction.

"You are determined to strip me of whatever dignity I possess, aren't you?" the prosecutor mused, shifting uncomfortably as he was dragged back against his lover's warm, sleek-muscled body. "Well, I suppose there is nothing for it."

With that, he reached for the familiar tube on the bedside cabinet.

* * *

It was movement, at first, that woke him.

"M- Miles?"

"It's entirely your fault, Wright," came Miles' voice, hoarse and gasping. "Must you always _cling _so?"

Phoenix would have protested, but slick fingers scrabbled awkward-gentle around him, stroked, and then guided him forwards...Miles let out a low, animal sound, his hand sliding back to grip Phoenix's thigh, urging him closer. "Please," the prosecutor growled, "Pl- please..."

Well. He'd been brought up to mind his manners. Still groggy, still half-asleep, head spinning, Phoenix fumbled for Miles' hips and, not even lifting his head off the pillow,_ thrust _in; Miles whined, his whole body arching, and his head thudded back onto Phoenix's shoulder, his fingers clawing at the skin of his thigh. "Miles," Phoenix managed to gasp, getting a mouthful of hair for his trouble. Miles was ready, Miles had prepared himself, he'd_ lain in the dark in Phoenix's arms and-_

Miles didn't seem to care. He was already rocking his hips, one knee drawn up, urging Phoenix on with almost-pained groans of his name, his body a whipcord of tension as he struggled towards orgasm.

"Miles," Phoenix tried again, shifting in an attempt to wriggle himself free enough to get more leverage, but Miles shook his head against Phoenix's shoulder, clenching around him, rutting his hips backwards with furious, desperate violence.

"No," the prosecutor moaned, straining, "Close, so close, _Phoenix_."

Oh. Oh, Phoenix could never resist his own name in this man's mouth. He could never resist this sensual, hedonistic creature that his reserved lover would become with the right urging. He slung an arm around Miles' heaving chest to hold him close, reaching down to where Miles' free hand was fisted around his cock and stilling it. Miles whined a protest, twisting to pant his pleas into the skin of Phoenix's cheek. "Shh," the attorney soothed, interlacing their fingers over hot, turgid flesh and beginning a new rhythm.

And this is when it broke his heart open all over again, really, because the sobbing gasp in his ear was surprised even now, even after years together, always so surprised that he wanted Miles to take as much pleasure from this as he did, that he wanted to_ touch,_ wanted...well, wanted _him._

Neither of them lasted long. Miles' panting breaths and the obscene, wet clamour of their fucking were the only sounds as Phoenix drove in, Miles' body tightening around him with the first familiar pulses, then the world was filled with white noise as he drove the stuttering, rhythmless thrusts into his lover.

Silence, but the rasp of their breath.

After what felt like an age, Miles gradually relaxed. He shook his head, hair tickling Phoenix's nose, and jogged his hips a little, hissing as he worked himself free; Phoenix, for his part, couldn't suppress a whine as he was eased from that warm, warm body, nor a grin at the undignified little squelch of their separation. Before he could comment, however, Miles had worked his way round to face Phoenix, looking thoroughly debauched in the soft, greyish dawnlight, and nestled in under his chin, sliding a leg carelessly through his. "Phoenix," came the murmur, tired, dazed.

"So, what brought that on?" Phoenix nosed through grey hair, kissing indiscriminately. "I mean, not that I'm complaining, God no, but if there's some sort of 'turn Miles into an insatiable sex fiend' switch, I want to know about it. For, y'know, posterity."

Miles only mumbled into his neck, already sliding into sleep.

Phoenix sighed. "The defense rests, Your Honour."


End file.
